


Another Life

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Kings
Genre: Future Fic, Jack deserves an happy ending, M/M, Probably AU but we'll never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Jack’s life eventually got better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: some suicidal thoughts, war and non-descriptive injuries.

_Now_

Jack stretches slowly and opens his eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Outside the sun is rising and the birds are going crazy, their songs loud in the stillness as they call out to one another.

Time to get up.

He washes quickly and munches on a piece of bread while he puts on his clothes. He nearly scalds his tongue on too-hot coffee – Jack’s never been the most patient of men and that hasn’t changed – before heading out of the door.

He pauses on the threshold for a second, tilting his head towards the sky. The sun is warm on his face – it’s going to be a hot day – but for now a light breeze is cooling the air, making it almost chilly. He enjoys it while it lasts: soon the summer heat will seep into even the oldest stones, unrelenting, and it’ll be a trial to venture outside – for Jack anyway who still isn’t quite used to the weather, even after five years.

Mrs. Daniels from two doors down the street waves at him when he walks by her house, smiling cheerfully.

“Good morning, Mrs. Daniels,” he says, smiling back.

“Thomas!” he hears her bellow a few steps later. “You’re going to be late again!”

The sound of running feet, then:

“Sorry Ma,” her son says breathlessly, flying past her to catch up with Jack, grumbling to himself. 

Jack stifles a grin and slaps Thomas on the back in greeting.

Life is good.

 

_Then_

The first six months Jack wants to die.

He’s kept under – discreet – guard in his rooms, Lucinda his only company. They’re married after a fortnight, a ploy to boost a public opinion that’s weary of being at war with Gath once more. His sister is conspicuously absent and his mother tells him to smile for the cameras while his father jests about grandchildren.

Lucinda blushes prettily and doesn’t notice the hard glint in the king’s eyes.

Jack does and wants to throw up.

He hates her sometimes. He doesn’t want to – after all if someone is truly innocent in all this it’s her – but she is kind and compassionate and _perfect_ and Jack doesn’t deserve her.

Doesn’t _want_ her either, even without his father’s threat hanging over his head, too tired and fucking depressed to pretend anymore, and after a while she stops asking why Jack stays away from their bed.

He will not give Silas an heir to twist and make in his image.

Eventually the war with Gath escalates and the king sends him back to the front under the pretence that royal presence will improve the troops’ morale. Jack wonders if Silas is hoping he’ll get himself killed and rid him of his presence for good. 

He wonders if he cares.

But he fights, the responsibility of his men’s life heavy on his shoulders, and sometimes he imagines he sees David’s golden hair on the other side of the trenches. He hopes life is treating him better than it does Jack.

They’re not winning. They’re not losing either. As always war with Gath goes on, endless and bloody.

Until a patrol changes Jack’s life forever for the second time.

 

_Now_

They work in the fields all morning and Jack loses himself in the familiar routine. It’s hard work, repetitive and tiring and a little boring too, a far cry from what he grew up being used to, but it allows his mind to wander as the physical takes over.

It’s oddly satisfying.

When the sun grows too hot they huddle in the shed, eating their lunch and enjoying the respite before their afternoon chores. For Jack it’s the stables, blessedly cool, taking care of the horses and fixing tacks.

It’s solitary work but he doesn’t mind the silence: sometimes he feels like he’s had to deal with enough mindless conversations to last him a lifetime. At least the horses don’t feel the need to bullshit him or curry favour.

Sometimes, when he is in a melancholic mood – it happens every once in a while, although he tries not to dwell on it –, he allows himself to think about his grandfather’s lands in the North and of all the summers he spent there. Everything was different then – it was before his sister got sick, before his father started spending his free time elsewhere and his mother became so cold. Before Jack realized just how different he was from what was expected of him and started living a lie.

But on this day he is happy, looking forward to going home, and he doesn’t think about his old life.

He is just finishing and putting away the last of the equipment when the light coming from the small windows dims, plunging the room into darkness. He blinks a couple of times, his eyes adjusting slowly, and leaves the stables to investigate.

Outside the workers have gathered, pointing at the sun, and Jack shields his eyes to look, unable to shake the feeling of dread that suddenly overtakes him.

Dark clouds are obscuring the skies – odd at this time of year – and the sun has turned black, the moon hiding its glow from the world.

Jack feels light-headed, an unexpected ache deep in his chest. He doesn’t believe in signs, he tries to remind himself. It’s just an eclipse. It doesn’t mean anything.

Someone comes running from the main house but Jack already knows what they’re going to say.

The king is dead.

 

_Then_

They’re behind enemy lines, pinned down by mortar fire and their air support isn’t coming. It’s déjà-vu all over again and Jack wonders if this is it, his father finally washing his hands off him. And after months of courting death the thought makes him furious, catching him unawares.

How dare he? How dare he sacrifice Jack’s men in his attempt to get to him? They’re good men, good soldiers, and they’re dying one after the other. They’re dying for him, so that he will live, and that’s enough to make him hold on.

But then a grenade explodes two feet away from his position and Jack goes flying. He lands hard and the pain hits a second later and everything goes dark.

He comes to in a hospital tent and David is next to him, gripping his shoulder tightly and telling him to be quiet.

“What happened?” Jack asks, the words slurring as his jumbled mind tries to make sense of David’s presence.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” David repeats, pleading and desperate, but Jack is already drifting off, whatever drugs they’re giving him pulling him back under.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, the days melting into one continuous blur interspaced with snippets here and there of a doctor bent over him and David looking jittery and half-scared out of his mind.

He’s jolted back to the real world one night when David crouches next to him, yanking his IV out.

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” he says urgently, tugging at Jack’s arm, and Jack doesn’t have much choice but to follow.

He stumbles after David, his entire body protesting but the man is relentless, dragging him along and away from something. Eventually Jack’s mind clears enough to realize that the reason he can’t see quite right is because he’s got bandages over most of his face, and that he is wearing the wrong uniform.

They walk until the sounds from the camp – a Gath’s camp, Jack’s starting to figure out, feeling completely disconnected from reality – fade away and they leave the war behind.

Finally David stops and turns back towards him.

“We’re at the border,” he says, shoving civilian clothes into his hands, “You’ve got to go.”

He takes a step back and Jack reaches out to him, fumbling with the clothes.

“Why?” he asks. Why did you save me again? Why did you help?

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” David says, flashing a sudden and startling grin, and despite the pain Jack finds himself smiling back.

“Good luck.” 

David heads back the way they came from and Jack resolutely starts walking in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t stop.

 

_Now_

Jack doesn’t remember getting home.

One minute he is staring at the sky and the next he is looking at his front door, keys hanging nervelessly from his fingers. The sun is shining once again, the eclipse long over, and it’s like nothing happened. Except it did, the numbness paralyzing Jack a constant reminder.

His father is dead.

Whenever he’s imagined his father’s death – and he has, plenty of times, anger and vindication fuelling his imagination – what he felt was self-righteous satisfaction. The grief is… unexpected. He never would have thought that as much as he had come to hate his father there was still a part of him that loved him and yearned for his approval. For a kind word and a loving touch. Did Silas think about him as he laid dying, Jack wonders? Did he have regrets?

He will never know now.

His eyes are burning with tears when he stumbles blindly inside the house. He can hear Jeff poking around in the kitchen and he takes a minute to compose himself: it would raise too many questions – questions Jack doesn’t want to answer – to appear to be crying over the death of the king. A king Jack has never been shy to criticize before.

“You heard?” Jeff asks, looking up from his pans and Jack offers a weak shrug, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah,” he answers, desperate to find the comfort and serenity that usually come to him when watching Jeff do anything remotely domestic, filling him with quiet wonder.

But today peace just won’t come.

“I heard that David Sheppard guy was going to be crowned king – didn’t he fight for Gath? They say he killed the king,” Jeff goes on, his attention on their dinner and oblivious to the way his lover tenses a little at his words.

Jack doesn’t want the throne – not anymore. He hasn’t for a long time, not since it became clear that Silas would make sure he had a miserable life if he ever got it. In the end Jack chose to leave and be happy. He chose to love and live, and if he had to do it all over again he wouldn’t change a thing. Still, he can’t quite stop the twinge of – bitterness? regret? – deep in his chest at the thought of someone else taking what’s his by right. Especially David, his old rival for his father’s attention.

But David is a good man, a friend – he’s right for the job. God’s new favoured son. Who is Jack to question His will? God knows he’s tried and never got anything but grief for his troubles.

Before he’s fully realized it he is moving, coming to stand behind Jeff and wrapping his arms around him in a desperate embrace. The other man starts against him, Jack’s outburst catching him off guard, but after a split second Jack feels him relax, one of his hands coming up to cover Jack’s forearms on his chest.

Then silence, occasionally broken by bubbling sounds coming from the pans, while Jack just holds on, his face hidden in Jeff’s shoulder. He isn’t losing this. Not again. Not for all the kingdoms in the world.

Eventually he gets himself back under control, stepping back after a quick kiss that lands on the side of Jeff’s neck. His hands are still a little shaky and he thrusts them deep into his pockets, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“You okay?” Jeff asks, worried now, and Jack attempts a smile.

“Just missed you, that’s all.”

Which, while true, doesn’t begin to cover it and Jeff is kind enough not to point out he was only gone for a couple of days, making the same rounds he does every month. Jack is grateful, even though he knows he’s only been granted a brief respite – Jeff can be incredibly stubborn when he is concerned.

The thought gets another smile out of him, more genuine, and he has to kiss Jeff again, properly this time, dinner all but forgotten less than a foot away.

 

_Then_

Jack keeps walking, heading south away from both Gath and Shiloh and towards the sea, circling around the largest towns and trying to stay away from people. He knows that at any time he could stop, state his name to anyone and find himself back home within hours but he isn’t going back. Ever. So he walks and walks until he is out of his mind from pain and exhaustion and collapses in a ditch somewhere.

An old couple find him on their way back from the market and bring him to their village. They get the doctor from two villages over, a man named Jeff who frowns a lot, muttering about the war and how little the field medics can do. He patches him up and slowly Jack gets better, the bandages coming off and his strength returning.

They all assume he is a soldier, wounded in the war – in this part of rural Gilboa most of the men have been enlisted – and he lies when they ask his name, his scars enough to give him only a passing resemblance to his old self.

Later he reads about his own death in an old newspaper, the headline proclaiming _‘Prince Jack slain by Gath!’_ and the relief makes him light-headed.

He is free.

He stays with the couple who found him. Their son died during the last war and they’re getting old, needing someone to look after their house for them. They’re good people, and so when they offer him a permanent place under their roof Jack doesn’t need to think twice about it before accepting.

He needs to start building himself a new life and this is a good place to begin.

Soon it feels like he’s lived there forever. Everything is simpler – hell, Jack’s arrival is the biggest excitement the village’s had since the war started again, so much that everyone seems invested in his recovery and when Jack starts limping around to strengthen his muscles – doctor’s orders – he finds that he’s been adopted by the whole town.

He starts working in the fields when he is strong enough, needing to keep busy and bring home some money – never something he had to worry about before. He is dreadfully bad at it at first: he’s always considered himself to be in good physical shape but agricultural work is _hard_. The other workers laugh good-naturedly at his cluelessness and Jack finds himself laughing along with them, forgetting for a moment the ache in his muscles and back.

He improves slowly. His skin darkens from hours spent in the sun and his hands get rough and calloused. The scars aren’t so ugly anymore and his limp is mostly gone, except when he exerts his leg too much. Jeff checks up on him when he does his rounds in the village and now that he is better Jack starts looking forward to his visits.

A year passes. Then another. The old couple die and their house becomes Jack’s. The war is never ending and one day Jeff kisses him. And then stutters his way through an apology before Jack shuts him up with another kiss. It’s sweet and a little hesitant and when they break apart Jack laughs out loud.

It’s good.

Another year passes and Jeff moves in with him. Jack worries about everyone’s reactions but the worse he gets is a few pointed gibes. Thanks to him the village is gaining a doctor and that takes precedence over a few individuals’ scornful minds.

He is happy.

 

_Now_

A month after his father’s funeral Jack comes home to find two black cars bearing the flag of Gilboa parked in front of it. His cousin is lounging lazily against the wall, hands in his pockets and getting dirt all over his once immaculate – and no doubt expensive – suit.

It’s a Thursday and Jack thinks that’s it. He is going to die.

“Tying up loose ends?” he says viciously when he comes up to Andrew, taking some satisfaction in the surprise that flickers on his face.

He didn’t think David would stoop so low, killing off the other contender for the crown. Or that he would send Andrew to do the job – although he isn’t surprised Andrew is still around. The rat probably switched allegiance the moment the wind started blowing in David’s direction.

Jack just hopes Jeff hasn’t come home yet.

“The king wishes to speak to you,” Andrew says, nodding towards the car, and oh.

Of course.

Jack feels a little stupid at his uncharitable thoughts and a lot relieved – it’s _David_ , of course he wouldn’t do that –, unlocking his door and pushing it wide open. He looks back in the cars’ direction and waits for David to come out, which he does looking a little sheepish.

It’s been over five years since they’ve last seen each other and David hasn’t changed. He still has that same boyish face and open demeanour that made him so appealing back then, a little harder around the eyes maybe but war – and kingship – will do that to a man.

“Your Majesty,” Jack says a little dryly and David actually blushes, scuffing the floor with one foot like a child.

“I’m doing pilgrimage,” is David’s answer and Jack laughs out loud.

“Come in.” He ushers David inside, closing the door on Andrew’s face with a satisfied smirk.

“So.” The two of them hover in the living room awkwardly. “I never got to say thank you for saving my ass back then. Smuggling me into your camp in a Gath uniform to get me to a doctor was – a bit mad, actually.”

“Yeah…” David laughs and the tension in the room breaks. “I was part of the platoon that ambushed you – I couldn’t just leave you there.”

Soon they’re talking like two old friends – which they both are and aren’t, war and family getting in the way of that destiny. They carefully skirt around the topic of Jack’s father and David’s coronation until David finally gets to the real purpose of his visit.

“You could come back, you know. To Shiloh. I know you’re legally dead but it’s your home and we could make up some story. Michelle –”

“No,” he says, shaking his head when it looks like David might protest. “This is my home now.” 

“But –” David tries anyway and gets interrupted by the front door opening and,

“Joseph?” Jeff calls out, bag clattering on the floor. “What are those cars outside?” His voice trails off when he sees David sitting in their living room and he stares. “Uh.”

“He’s leaving,” Jack says, looking at David pointedly before taking Jeff’s arm and pulling him close for a quick kiss. “Give us a minute?”

Jeff nods and retreats quickly, looking a little dumbstruck.

“I’m happy here,” Jack tells David and he doesn’t know if it’s the finality in his voice or his little display with Jeff that stops him from arguing further.

“Maybe… maybe we can visit sometime,” David says tentatively as Jack walks him out. “Michelle would like to see you.”

Jack smiles a little wishfully. He should say no, break all ties, but despite their differences he’s missed his twin. 

“I’d like that,” he answers. “Tell her… tell her I’m happy for her – for both of you.”

“Thanks,” David says. Then he fidgets, looking at Jack with curious eyes before finally asking:

“Who was Joseph?”

“Someone real,” Jack answers with a faint smile, the memories not so painful now.

David nods like he understands and surprises him with a quick hug before retreating. Jack watches him walk away, back to the life that was once meant for Jack, and feels nothing but relief.

“Was that the king?” Jeff asks behind him and Jack nods.

“I knew him once,” he says. “In another life.”

Maybe one day he’ll tell Jeff about Jack. About the life that was his before he came here. And about the man whose name he chose to take as his own, who taught Jack he could love.

But for now he leans back into his lover and watches the cars drive away in a twirl of dust, the Gilboan flags flapping proudly in the wind.

He doesn’t regret a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.


End file.
